God Can Do It Again

Excerpt taken from Hammered by Dru Hammer

Chapter 9
God Can Do It Again

I experienced first-hand so much of God’s goodness in being faithful when I went through that period of “Why did You let this happen, God?”

It started when I was young. By now, you know that I grew up in a family that took the Bible literally. If Jesus said it, it was the truth to us. That included when He commissioned us to pray for and claim the same miracles He did. He told His disciples to “go out and preach the gospel, lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.” (Mark 16:15-18) As my parents pursued God and grew in the Lord, they asked Jesus for the gift of faith–and He gave it to them. I watched their faith in action and have seen countless people’s lives changed.

When my sisters and I were still very young, my mother was diagnosed with an incurable kidney disease called polycystic kidney disease. The kidneys develop cysts that grow until they completely choke the function of the kidney. When that happens, you either have to go on dialysis for the rest of your life or have a kidney transplant. My family believed Jesus was going to heal my mom. But by the time my mom was in her late 60s, her kidneys were functioning at only 10 percent. We never lost faith, but we did realize that God may have another plan, modern medicine. God-given doctor’s intelligence can also be miraculous. My mom was too old to go on a donor list. My sisters and I went to UCLA in Los Angeles to one of the best kidney specialists in the world. How grateful we were to have that opportunity. Of the three of us, my older sister, Lisa, was almost a perfect match and accepted as the best option.

Then came the news. After we went through all the testing, I was diagnosed with the same kidney disease as my mother. Through an ultrasound, they detected that my kidneys were covered in cysts. I had had several kidney infections in the past, but it was never diagnosed as polycystic kidney disease. I was merely put on antibiotics.

When my nephrologist sat me down to tell me my diagnosis, this supernatural level of faith that Jesus was going to heal me came over me. I can’t explain it. I just knew it. My response to his diagnosis was, “Dr. D, do you believe in God?”

“No. I grew up in Eastern Europe, and I have seen too much war and human suffering to believe there could be a God.” To that, I responded, “Perfect.”

He looked at me like I had three eyes and asked, “Why is that perfect?” I replied, “Because I have seen healings my entire life. Even Jesus suffered on this Earth. Why should we expect anything different? We live in a fallen world. Suffering is not of God. God is good.”

By then, I’m sure he thought I looked like I had not three but four eyes. I continued, “When we experience suffering, God wants to be there to help us and restore us if—and that is a very big if—we are willing to believe in Him and turn to Him for help. I believe Jesus is going to heal me. Then, you are going to have to believe in Him. You have already told me there is no cure for this disease. When I’m healed, you will see that God exists.”

Dr. D is a world-renowned doctor in his field. He travels all over the world lecturing and teaching about organ diseases. He didn’t know how to respond. He just continued with the medical part. Eating healthy could slow this down by about 10 percent, but he emphasized again that there is no cure. I was instructed to come back every three to five years to be monitored or until I started having complications. As I walked down the hallway to leave, Dr. D came to the doorway and called me, “Mrs. Hammer, if you are right, you might just change my life.”

I turned around and responded, “No, Dr. D, if I’m right, Jesus is going to change your life.”

I walked out, knowing God had a plan. Then for a moment, I walked to my car, I let humanism creep through and thought, “Oh nooooo! What if I am mistaken and I’m not going to be healed? Then I have totally blown it, and Dr. D can say, “I told you there is no God.” I said, “God, You need to show up for me big time!” (Amazing how I keep telling God what He needs to do!)

Then, I collected my thoughts. Wait a minute. I either believe Jesus can heal, or I don’t, and I have seen countless miracles in my life. Why is it the hardest to believe in my own healing? I had to go home and stand on all the promises in the Bible about Jesus. It’s so easy to let doubt creep into our minds, but God tells us to “meditate on the Word day and night.” When I did that, fear and doubt slowly dissipated. Then, when doubt would rear its ugly head again, I would return to the Word and faith was once again restored. Our carnal mind and our faith are constantly in a battle. We have to fight to get it in line with the promises of God. He is either faithful or He is not. I choose to believe He is.

I kept believing that Jesus was going to heal me. Four years after I was diagnosed, a friend stayed in our guest house while he was on a ministry trip in Los Angeles. Louis, an evangelist from Mexico, is an amazing man of God and a prophet. He said he would love to pray for us before he left to catch his flight. Who turns that down? When he got to me, he laid his hands on me and prayed for Jesus to bless me. He had no idea I had been diagnosed with any disease. I hadn’t told anyone but family because I believe there is power in our words, and I was not going to claim that diagnosis or even talk about it, giving it any credence.

After he prayed for me, he said, “Dru, this may not make any sense to you, but when I laid my hands on you to pray, I saw these organs. They had big spots and growths all over them. They looked like leopard skin. As I prayed, the spots started falling off one by one.” I started rejoicing. It made all the sense in the world to me. I knew I was healed.

I called Dr. D’s office. I told the receptionist I needed to come in for another MRI as soon as possible. I was told my insurance didn’t cover another one for another year, but I insisted.

“Why in the world do you want to do this now? Are you having kidney problems?” the receptionist asked. I told her it was just the opposite. I explained that Jesus had healed me and I needed to let Dr. D know. There was a long pause. Then, politely, “I don’t think that is necessary, but I will speak with Dr. D and see if he can order an ultrasound.” After begging, pleading, and groveling, she finally just obliged. I went in for the ultrasound, and, of course, they couldn’t find any spots. I was whooping and hollering like I was at the Super Bowl. In walked Dr. D, not humored at all. He managed to say something like, “Well, you know, Dru, this is a different test, and the MRI shows much more. The cysts just may not show up on this ultrasound.”

I said, “I was diagnosed from an ultrasound. They could see the spots clearly. Then you ordered an MRI for further confirmation.” I figured this would be a little (or a lot) less perplexing to a self-proclaimed atheist.

That day, I bought Dr. D a Bible with his name embossed on it. That way, he couldn’t recycle it and might feel guilty for throwing something away with his name on it. I also brought him books by genius men just like him, such as C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. Mr. Lewis was an atheist but came to know God on a deep, personal level when he researched the Old Testament/Torah and New Testament and saw how Jesus filled over 324 biblical prophecies of the coming Messiah. I told Dr. D, “I know you are a well-educated man with years and years of research and studies, so here is something new to study. If this is all true, then I’m talking about eternity. What have you really got to lose? If I’m wrong, your outcome won’t be any different than what you believe now. How do you pass up something as important as this?”

He had no words. I hugged him, leaving a “goodie bag” of a Bible and books that I’m sure he dreaded receiving. I walked out, knowing the Lord had me there to speak truth into his life, plant those seeds, and use this gift of healing for His glory.

After I moved from Los Angeles, I continued my annual checkups wherever I was living. I’m delighted to say my kidneys are functioning perfectly. I’ve even seen new doctors over the years and told them I had polycystic kidneys, and they all tell me that’s impossible because your kidney numbers are perfect.

The God of impossibilities.

My mom, on the other hand, got her healing through medical expertise, and my sister Lisa donated her kidney. My family was so faithful in praying and believing God would heal her; we knew it would happen one way or another.

Only God knows why I was healed miraculously and why my mom and sister had to go through surgery. We do know He had a plan right there in the Baylor Hospital in Dallas where they had the surgery. My dad had never been one to sit around. While my mom and sister were in the hospital, he couldn’t sit still. He walked the hallways and spoke about Jesus with every patient, their families, nurses, doctors, and the cleaning crew. We were a little mortified when he would just walk into hospital rooms unannounced, making sure everyone knew Jesus. Yet they all seemed touched by his prayers and did not seem to mind. People are desperate for hope, especially in a hospital.

My dad walked into a room of an older couple. The man was a garbage collector by trade, and his wife had the same kidney disease as my mom. He was retired but had to go back to work to be able to pay for all the deductibles on the kidney transplant surgery. The loyal husband would leave in the middle of the night to get to his job, which was two hours away. Then, he would drive back late that evening to be next to his wife in the hospital.

My dad asked if they would like him to pray for them. You know, the “usual” in our family. That day was the seventh day of the woman being in the hospital. The doctors said if the kidney did not “take” in seven days, then the body would not accept the foreign kidney. They would have to send her home because there was nothing more they could do. That day, her kidney function was flatlined on the monitor. They were devastated after all the sacrifices they had made. Desperate, they welcomed my dad to come in and pray for them. They had loved the Lord all their life. My dad’s faith reached up to God on their behalf. He asked Jesus to come touch this woman to heal her new kidney and make it function perfectly. As soon as they were finished praying, the monitors started going up and down. Her new kidney began functioning! They went home restored, physically and spiritually. If my mom and Lisa had to have surgery just so we were in that place at that time for that couple, it was worth it. I sometimes wonder how many other people’s lives have been touched, healed, and restored by their story.

We all had dinner together several nights we were there and rejoiced at all the miraculous stories our dad would tell us. Was it our choice for my mom and sister to have to go through a major surgery like that? Of course not. But God knew my dad. He put him to work, and in the meantime, our prayers were answered for my mom’s healing. The surgeons told us that at her age, she would be “lucky” to get 10 years out of that kidney. Well, we don’t believe in luck, and it’s a good thing. Over 21 years later, mom’s kidney functioned perfectly in her body when the Lord called her home.

About six years ago, I saw Dr. Byrd, an amazing Godly doctor in Palm Desert, for my annual checkup. I shared with him how I was diagnosed with polycystic kidneys 10 years earlier. Then I told him how Jesus healed me from that disease. Dr. Byrd not only believed me, but he said he had seen many miracles in his medical practice. He did all my blood work and asked me to come back in a few days when he had the results. Not surprisingly, my kidneys are functioning without fail. Dr. Byrd said if I still had polycystic kidneys, there would be no way that my numbers would be absolutely perfect. We had church right there in his office and ended up talking for over an hour about the faithfulness of God.

This miracle—amongst many in my life—didn’t just happen for my benefit. I believe Jesus heals us to give others hope and spread His good news. I have the privilege of sharing the faithfulness of God with others, which is truly the joy of my life. That is what I have been called to do.

Let’s pray together
Jesus, Your words are “By My stripes you were healed,” and I take You at Your Word. Thank you for dying on the cross for our healing and eternal life with You in heaven. You may not always heal in the way we want You to, but You always heal, and the ultimate healing is when we get to be face-to-face with our Savior in heaven. I am going to take my healing and share it with the world. I love You because You loved me first. Amen.

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